Tuesday
by Sophisticated.Simplicity
Summary: Booth, I think we should have sex." A normal day in the life of our favourite FBI agent.


**A/N: **I've been a little in the dumps lately, so I decided writing a fun fic might help. It totally did. (Ah, the healing powers of fanfic.)

Oh, and I kept Angela and Hodgins engaged in this one. It's just easier that way.

DISCLAIMER: NAW.

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Today is Tuesday. It is, in fact Tuesday everywhere in Washington DC- but at 6:00 in the am, not many people are up to acknowledge this fact. Come to think of it, not many people will care even when they've woken up, had their morning coffee and are on the road to start their day. They wait until Thursday or Friday, when a dent's been put in the week and relaxation is just on the horizon, to begin to feel good about life.

But not Seeley Booth.

This is a man who is not dayist. Monday is no different from Thursday or Saturday- Tuesday and Friday are equals. He likes life, Tuesdays and all.

So, at six am, when most of DC is still curled under their blankets, snoring away, Booth is up, dressed, and ready to begin. He has his bowl of fruit loops (leftovers from Parker's stays), a cup of coffee, a bagel, and is out the door before the sun has even shown itself over the hills.

Sometimes he brings coffee over to Brennan's apartment, but today he decides just to head straight for work. His brain is addled enough by lack of sleep- he doesn't need his curiously attractive partner to make it worse.

Just as Booth steps through the door, thinking about grabbing another cup of Joe and relaxing for a bit before the day truly begins, Biggins intercepts him with a case file.

"Got one." The stout, fish-like man mumbles, taking a sip of his coffee. "Looks like it's off to the lab to see that Lady Doctor of yours."

"Mmm-hmmm." He agrees distractedly, flipping through the file. Biggins sighs forlornly.

"Man, what I wouldn't give to have a partner like that. I mean, Konner is a good guy and all, family man…I just don't think I could ever bat for the other team, y'know?"

More silence, aside from the idle shifting of papers as Booth proceeds to pay no attention to the portly man in front of him.

"…and damn, she's got a nice ass. I mean, _day-um. _What I wouldn't give to take that for a ride…oh man, just once….she seems like the kinda gal who has her fair share of one-night-"

Booth chooses this moment to begin listening.

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"Booth, you're late." Brennan chastises over her shoulder, slender frame bent over a table of remains. In the background, the hum of machinery and idle _tap-tap _of Hodgins's keyboard sre all that can be heard. It is a slow day at the Jeffersonian.

The doctor straightens up and sets her tool down, turning her head over her shoulder to appraise her partner. Brennan's brow furrowed.

"Where did you get that?"

"Get what?"

"That black eye!"

_Oh, same old, same old. Just got punched trying to defend your honor. _"Erm, nowhere." He explains lamely. Brennan narrows her eyes, drawing towards him with short, concise strides. She begins to circle him, shark-like, until he starts to squirm under her assessment.

"I'm not stupid, Booth."

"No."

"Black eyes don't just come out of nowhere."

"No, you're right."

"Oh? So where'd it come from?"

Pause.

"I fell."

"Fell?"

"Hard."

"On what, exactly?"

"Biggins tripped me." He coughs, looking everywhere but her. "I hit my face on his desk."

She doesn't buy it, Booth thinks. How can she? Bones is a world-renowned forensic Anthropologist. She's definitely not going to fall for some lame-ass excuse about-

"Okay." Her hands drop from her hips, face slackening in acceptance. She turns back to her table, wait's a beat, and then comments "You really need to be more conscientious about where you walk, Booth. I've been to the Hoover Building. Those men can be extremely childish."

-okay. This is okay. Booth likes this, his partner being a little slower on the uptake than usual. It makes him feel a little smarter, to tell the truth (although, of course, he'll never tell this to the good doctor).

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After a session at Sweets's (there's nothing too extraordinary about it. They banter, Sweets tries to point out their obvious attraction to each other. They don't listen, of course, just tune him out with denial that's louder and stronger than Mark Henry at a Slipknot concert) they head over to the diner for some lunch.

They both laugh at something funny Brennan has just said, just two voices amid an intimate buzz of chatter. Bessie comes by and refills their coffee, handing Booth another piece of apple pie. She smiles winningly at him, brushing her chest against his arm as she leans over to place the plate in front of him. Bess is nice, the FBI agent thinks, and pretty. She's got dark hair and brown eyes, freckles all up and down her skin the size of dimes. She's on the plump side, with a baby-like face and two huge dimples like quarters when she smiles. He might like to date her, but every time he considers it, something stops him. Something he can't quite put his finger on-

"Booth, I think we should have sex."

-oh, yeah. That.

Bessie almost drops the pie on Booth's lap in surprise, looking at Brennan with wide chocolate eyes. "Would you like to stay and listen to our conversation, Bessie?" Temperance raises an eyebrow. Bess shakes her head and skitters off like a mouse from a sweeping broom.

"What?" The Agent manages to sputter, not sure what to do or how to respond to such a proposition. His partner has said her share of odd things in the past, but this probably tops the list.

Well. It's in the top five, anyway.

"Sex. We should have sex."

"Sex, like," He uses his hands to make an appropriately obscene gesture "_sex?_"

"Yes, sex, like, _sex." _Brennan deadpans, taking a dainty bite of pie. She can be so feminine when she wants to be… "I think we should nip this in the bud."

"Nip _what _in the bud?" This conversation has officially flown past Booth's level of comprehension. "Bones, what the hell are you talking about?"

"We're attracted to each other, obviously. It makes sense, I mean, for reasons that I've already-" She stops herself, not needing to explain further. "I think it would preferable for both of us just to get it out of the way and have sex so we can go back to being _just partners._"

"No." His voice is harsh, leaving no room for interjection. Brennan looks startled "No! No. No. _No._" Oh. Now she looks hurt. Fuck. Damnit. He needs to explain, quickly. "I won't have sex with you."

Silence.

She stands up from the table and, before he can stop her, dashes out the door.

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Something (everything) inside him desperately hopes that she hasn't told Angela. But, when he renters the Jeffersonian, he hears something that sounds like a crippled sea lion coming from the artist's office. Hodgins, on the platform, is sitting at his computer and wearing furry earmuffs to block out the noise.

"You look like Davy Crockett." Booth greets, approaching the man. Hodgins glances up at him and smiles cheekily.

"Cam gave them to me."

"Why would Cam have a pair of-" He stops himself "No. Never mind. The question I want to ask is: why are you guys abusing a baby seal in Angela's office?"

"That's my fiancé." He says, in a creepy-loving way. "I dunno. Brennan just went in there as soon as she got back from lunch with yo-"

"SEELEY BOOTH." Angela screeches, stomping onto the platform. Her face, scrunched together like a lump of scary wrapping paper, tells the man that she means business "My office, now."

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"You want to have sex with Brennan." Those are the first words to come out of her mouth after they both sit on the couch. "You know you do. Don't try and deny it, mister."

Booth threw up his hands in an _I Surrender _gesture "I'm not."

"So why did you tell her that you wouldn't touch her with a ten-foot pole?"

"I never said that!" He scoffed indignantly. Women. "I just told her that I wanted more."

"More than what?"

"More than sex! I want to date her, goddamnit!" The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them. "I think she just misheard me." He finished meekly. Angela stared at him, wide-eyed.

She opened up her mouth, and she squealed.

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"Open up, Bones."

"No!" responds her muffled voice from behind her office door "I don't want to talk to you. You're a brute and a cad and I _do not want to talk to you!"_

"Dude. Ouch." Hodgins says, grimacing. He leans against the doorframe. "You're a brute. And a Cad."

"Shut up, Hodgins!" Brennan and Booth yell in unison. He bursts out into peels of laughter.

"Just let me _explain, _Bones." The agent sighs "Please."

"No."

"_Pleeeeease?"_

"_No!"_

"Will you let me explain over dinner?"

"Absolutely not!"

"What about a movie? Could I explain it to you in a theater?"

"_No."_

"Jeeze, Sam I am, you're a hard girl to please." Hodgins raises his eyebrow, a silent question as to where the hell he's going with this. "What about both? If I took you to both, could I explain?"

_Silence_

"Booth?"

"Bones."

"Are you trying to ask me if I'll go on a date with you?"

"Yes, Bones. That's precisely what I'm trying to ask you."

Silence

The door opens, almost hitting Booth in the face, and Brennan storms out. "Fine!" She shouts over her shoulder "But you're still a cad."

"Don't forget Brute!" Hodgins yells after her. Booth elbows him in the ribs.

He really, really loves Tuesdays.


End file.
